


Shifting Cephalopod

by _FUCK_DAT_DJ_ (Octotrooper)



Series: Tentacled Transformations [1]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: 18+, Brainwashing, Consensual, Food, Gross, Ink, Inkling to Octarian, Masturbation, Octopus, Other, POV, POV Story, POV TF, Point of View, Splatoon AU, TF, Tentacle, Tentacles, Transformation, Weird, age gap?, ambiguous genitalia, body fluids, loyalty display, overwritten memory, wasabi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octotrooper/pseuds/_FUCK_DAT_DJ_
Summary: (18+) You, once a Turf-minded adult Inkling, had been trying to find your place in the world every year since graduating High School. A strange old man recruited you to help save the city a few months back. You thought you'd found where you belonged.But now, the "Octarian Menace" is going to change more than just your career path!





	Shifting Cephalopod

**Author's Note:**

> LEGAL DISCLAIMER: 18+ readers only. Please. That's the jurisdiction in my country and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> This Fic Contains: REALLY weird TF (I mean it, this one is really bizarre), science lab/hospital-ish scenery, some memory loss/mind alteration, W A S A B I S U C C, a few gross bodily fluid things (briefly), fish puns... and (of course) me cursing your octo-pussy with a DJ Octavio fetish.

_Even among Inklings, you were a NEET. All the struggling you did to barely pass your high school classes was rewarded with several fruitless years of trying (and failing) to use your shitty “Splat-stract” paintings to admit you into Inkblot Art Academy. You’d even hopped from part-time job to part-time job for a while. Nothing stuck._

_That’s why you’d headed to Inkopolis one night with just 4,000 coins in your pocket and an offbrand Splattershot in your backpack, dreams of the Turf War major leagues swirling around in your mind. You’d just spent the last four years busting your ass trying to work your way up to be a star in the SquidForce Turf Major Leagues. Next week was set to be the biggest tournament in the entire city._

_What a waste of time!_

-

**You wince. Their tentacles are squeezing your boneless arms a bit too tightly. You grit your pointed beak-teeth. You understand. It’s obvious why they can’t trust you.**

-

_Then again, if you hadn’t come to Inkopolis, you’d never have met that old man._

_Cod dammit. You still don’t know if you should thank him or throw him into the ocean and watch him dissolve. Technically, he **is** the reason you’re here right now… _

_“Th-th-they’re coming,” he’d said, “and they’ll destroy half the city! You need to stop them! Protect what’s right!”_

-

**Upbeat electronic music floats out of wall-mounted speakers as they lower you onto a cold iron slab completely coated with neon purple ink. The ink soaks through your Day-Glo yellow jacket and black spandex shorts. Your whole back stings. Their ink feels all wrong. It’s too thick, too slippery.**

-

_You had no idea what the old man was talking about. The city was in danger? From what?_

_“From **them**.” The old man’s jaw was clenched. He seemed serious. He began telling you stories of the Great Turf War in detail that you’d never heard before. The very air felt thick and tense._

_“Why me?”_

_“I’ve been watching you on the Turf. You’ve got that spark in your eyes. It’s the same spark I once had. This’ll be your chance to really use it, bucko.” And he handed you the freshest damn weapon you’d ever seen. How could you say no?_

_You **should** have said no._

**-**

**“ _GAAAAAAH!_ ” Your own voice. You can’t quite match your ink color to theirs to ease the pain. The lab technicians hold you down, frantically chattering to each other in a strange, gurgling language.**

**“Hurts?” The head technician is over three times your height and speaks with a guttural, watery accent. His huge lips curl into a smile. “Won’t be very long.”**

**-**

_You’d latched onto the idea of being a hero like it was squid bait. For a while, it seemed you’d finally found a job made for you. The spray of your gun knew no mercy. The octopus spirits floating across the faux sky meant another Inkling victory._

_Then, you started noticing the little things. Their trolley cars would slow to a stop mid-way to their destination. The air filters were coughing out **more** debris. When one of the artificial suns that lit up their underground home burnt out mid-mission, screams echoed through the cavern._

_And those “emotionless” soldiers looked downright terrified when they were staring down the barrel of your Hero Shot._

_You’d dropped your weapon on the ground in front of two mobile troopers and held your hands up to show you were giving up fighting. The look of shock on their faces made all three of your hearts hurt. They’d looked so strange to you –severed tentacles with blank, staring faces. And those tiny little legs! It was so different than you were. You hadn’t considered that they might actually be… **people**. _

_-_

**“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you blubber over and over. You’re not sure if the gooey ink-tears in your eyes are from the sting of purple ink or remembering how much you’ve hurt them. The technicians holding your arms aren’t much different than the troopers you’d been mercilessly shooting for months. They turn to the tall head technician, the only one who speaks any Squidlingo. He trills something. The others give you a sympathetic look.**

**_-_ **

_The Cap’n warned you about their leader’s “nasty aura,” but the octopus Shogun-DJ before you had such an overwhelming presence that your attention was pulled like a magnet towards him. His devil-may-care tone, his theatrical mannerisms, the way his speech was tinged with musical references… it should have all seemed so laughably over-the-top. Instead, somehow it managed to combine into a personal style smoother than the shakes at the Crust Bucket. It made no sense. You found yourself enthralled._

_“You wanna join the party,” the DJ had said, fiery green eyes smiling in a cheeky way, “but dat body o’ yours is too stiff to dance with us…”_

_“Uhhhh… what’s that mean?” you’d asked._

_He’d laughed, an unbridled “Gyuh huh huh ha haaaaa!” that caused his whole body to shake. Then, he cocked his head towards you with a glance that was as playful as it was intimidating._

_“Means we gotta do a li’l remixin’.”_

  


 

**You’re going to be the very first “Remix.” The head technician assures you that the process is going to be painless. You’re not so sure. The technology hasn’t been tested on any living beings.**

**Worries reel through your Inkling mind – what if it doesn’t work? What if you end up some half-squid, half-octopus-tentacle freak? What if you deadass dissolve into little inky particles and don’t ever respawn?**

**The tall technician holds out a strange looking vegetable with his head-tentacle and your dominant hand is released. You take it from him. The green stalk in your hand looks – and _smells_ – a lot like a rhizome of wasabi, but it’s curved and twisted into a tentacle-like spiral shape. There are even little circular bumps where suckers should be.**

**“What’s this?” you ask.**

**“Special wasabi. Put it in mouth,” the tall technician says. “It is for good octopus nutrition.”**

**You turn the wasabi over in your hand. You can’t help but notice your square fingertips. You realize that this might be the last time you see your _own hands_. It’s not a pleasant thought. The pain shooting through your back from the purple ink isn’t exactly nice, either. **

**The technicians are all staring at you in anticipation. It’s too late to back out now. Might as well roll with it.**

**You raise the tentacle-wasabi to your mouth and give the smallest end a small, cautious lick. A sting of spiciness bursts into your mouth. You’ve had wasabi before, but this one is causing your mind to buzz with newfound desire.**

**You want more.**

**You start to suck on the wasabi as if it were candy on a stick. Your inky tongue flicks back and forth over the green vegetable, sliding over the sucker bumps and swirling around the curvy tip. The warmth from the spiciness radiates outward, filling your entire body with sparks. The pain in your back is beginning to fade away.**

**“Oooh!” That’s the DJ’s voice. Is he here? No, it’s coming from a speaker haphazardly mounted to one of the monitors on the far end of the lab. His face appears onscreen. “Looks like the show’s just gettin’ started.”**

**The tall technician says something that sounds rushed, his tentacle flopping back and forth. The DJ snorts and then turns his gaze towards you.**

**“How ya feelin’, Remix?” he asks. A glob of neon purple ink slides out of your mouth when you try to answer. The wasabi falls out along with it. He laughs. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”**

**One of the technicians hands the wasabi back to you. You shove the larger end into your mouth this time and begin sucking feverishly. That’s so much better. It was only gone for five seconds and you already were beginning to miss it!**

**It’s getting hard to ignore your lips. They’ve become so thick and heavy! They’re so large that you can even see them if you look down, bright purple and bulging. You want to touch them with your fingertips and see just how big they are, but one hand is on the wasabi and the other is still being restrained by a technician.**

**Your eyes are swelling now, becoming enormous and round. You can feel it as they start to bulge outward from your face. Inkling eyes are tiny in comparison to the eyes you have now. You look from left to right at the technicians, all of which have fascinated expressions on their faces. You’re fascinated, too – it’s strange how bulbous your new eyeballs feel as they slide back and forth in their sockets.**

**_Pop!_ ** **A loud noise signals the eruption of a single, gigantic sucker, right in the center of your lower back. It twitches and pulses vigorously. It doesn’t hurt – but a burst of warmth radiates outward from where it grew. Your face tenses and you accidentally bite into the tentacle-wasabi.**

**_Cod, that tastes amazing. _ **

**You’re chewing on the wasabi now instead of just sucking, biting off little bits of it with your beak-teeth and swallowing. From the speaker at the far end of the lab, you hear a low rumbling noise. The DJ is very pleased.**

**With more wasabi in your system, the changes are quickening. There’s a strange, almost “bloated” feeling happening inside your stomach as your entire torso starts shifting forms. Your spandex capris and yellow Day-Glo jacket, the special “Agent” uniform you’d worn for so many months, are struggling to keep themselves together around your rapidly swelling waistline. Seams burst. The zipper goes flying and careens off the ceiling. The jacket gives one last, strained creak, then gives up completely and shreds. Your body, now exposed to the cold lab air, has taken a squishier, cylindrical form, identical to some of the shorter technicians flanking your sides. Your Agent jacket is torn beyond repair. You’re glad to see it go.**

**There’s a bizarre, bubbling feeling rolling over your scalp. The tentacles on the top of your head, nearly useless in your upright form, are combining into a single, strong, flexible limb. You can’t define the sensation as anything you’ve felt before – Squeezing? Sparkling? Rumbling? Nothing seems to fit, though it’s not unpleasant. More popping signals the growth of even more suckers, one by one, all in a row.**

**Your new head-tentacle flops down in front of your face and involuntarily curls around the wasabi stalk. That’s for the best – your original arms are quickly becoming very weak, an invisible, gentle pressure engulfing them as they shrink down beyond a usable size. You realize that, although you can no longer see past your waist, your legs are also becoming much, much smaller inside what remains of your pants. Do you have tentacles instead of toes now? It certainly feels like it.**

**In the back of your mind, you know this should seem a lot weirder, especially as you begin to understand the gurgling language of the others in the lab. But the tentacle-wasabi has been doing much more than temporarily clouding your thoughts. Your mind has been reshaping for a while now, your racing Inkling thoughts changing into simple ones of diligence and obedience.**

**The electronic music being pumped into the lab influences octopuses much, much differently than squids. Its steady beat is loyalty-inducing. You can feel your values and goals being pulled in line with the others’ – _especially_ the DJ’s. Things that seemed strange and hideous only a minutes ago – bulging eyes, oversized lips – are now absolutely beautiful to you. And you’re becoming increasingly glad that you now have these wonderful features yourself. It’s how an Octarian is supposed to look, after all. You wouldn’t want to look any other way.**

**You swallow the last edible bit of the wasabi. Your body is nearly finished changing now, and the lab technicians are pulling off all the remaining bits of your clothes. The cool air in the lab tickles the now-exposed area between your legs. With your Inkling mind almost completely replaced, you can’t quite remember what genitalia was on your underside before. Whatever was there has gone all mushy, as if it were a fleshy putty, forming into a single all-purpose hole. You’re a simple creature now, with no reproductive capabilities of your own. You have no biological need for anything else.**

**The wasabi-induced fog on your mind lifts. Six sets of goggle-eyes are staring at you.**

**“Well?” says one of the technicians. “How does it feel?” You lift your tentacle slightly and make a happy gurgling noise in response. You feel absolutely tentacular! All the technicians seem relieved.**

**“The change seems to have gone well, General.” The tall technician is speaking into a microphone near the monitor displaying the DJ. “The Remix is very content right now.”**

**“Gooooood,” the DJ says, satisfaction in his voice. “I _like_ seein’ happy Octotroopers.”**

**There’s a familiar, warm feeling crawling up your torso. Octarians can’t reproduce, so why are you so turned on right now? Unless…**

**“We need to take vitals,” says one of the other technicians, this one perfectly spherical. “Hold still, please.” Fabric cuffs are wrapped around your ankles and the end of your head-tentacle. A barrage of data appears on a black-and-purple computer screen to your right.**

**“Uhhhh, General…” the tallest technician starts. His jaw is tense and there’s an uncomfortable expression plastered across his face. “For some reason, the Remix is… experiencing significant levels of arousal. This wasn’t an expected side effect from the change. Should we be concerned?”**

**“Whaaat!? Lemme see that data!”**

**_Beep-beep-beep._ ** **The computer is making a high-pitched noise.**

**“Wait.” The short technician squints his single, enormous eyeball. “The subject’s arousal levels just spiked again.”**

**“Ah, I’ll bet it’s the DJ,” another technician pipes up. “He causes a lot of people to get hot-under-the-tentacles.”**

**“Ooh, yeah, he’s a hard one to ignore.”**

**“Especially for us octopuses!”**

**“I’m not…uh…” You begin to protest but pause to look back at the Shogun displayed on the monitor.  He seemed impressive enough in your Inkling form – as an Octarian, he’s downright irresistible.**

**“Got a thing for me, Remix?” the DJ asks. The hole between your legs pulses, just slightly, and the computer to your right begins beeping again. “Heh. You’re an octopus now! You’re gonna find other octopuses hot. ‘Specially ones like _me._ ”**

**You stutter, trying to come up with some excuse for your body. Nothing comes. You can’t believe the intensity of the effect he’s having on you. You just want to sit there and delight in his presence for a while. That magnificent brow! Those eight muscular arms! Even the way he cocks his head is enough to send shivers through your suckers.  A small bit of ink trickles out from your hole.**

**“Gyuh huh huh ha HAAAAAA! I like it! _I like it!_ ” the DJ laughs. “J _ust lookin’ at me_ gives my new Octotrooper pleasure. You wanna make me real happy, Remix?” He raises a brow. You make a confused, but curious “blorp” sound. The others in the lab exchange amused, knowing glances and quickly leave the room, but not before the tallest one places a rather hefty wasabi stalk next to you on the ink-coated slab.**

**“Pick it up,”the DJ says, pointing at the wasabi. Your tentacle curls around it. “Alright, I wanna see you cum.”**

**What? With the wasabi? Does he really want you to...**

**“Your body’s made for this,” he says, lowering his eyelids. “Stick it up there an’ start rubbin’.”**

**You’re not sure what to think of his order. If you weren’t so turned on…**

**You stick it inside the inky opening and start sliding it back and forth. The bumps on the edges of the stalk are stimulating and sensual. Before you know it, you’re in a lusty, Octarian daze, thrusting the stalk in perfect rhythm with the music that’s playing in the lab.**

**Ink starts squirting out with each beat. It feels spicy hot. Wasabi would be too much for most people’s crotches – but Octarians are specially evolved to handle this kind of heat. It’s electrifying!**

**“Ya like that?” the DJ asks.**

**“Gurrrrg… yeah…”**

**“An’ _who_ is it that turned you on so much?”**

**“Y-you did…ahhh!” It’s getting harder to talk between your warbles of pleasure.**

**“I wanna hear you moan my name.”**

**“D-D- _DJ Octavio_ ….!”**

**“That’s iiiiiit.” Octavio leans closer to the camera, so that you can’t see anything but his eyes squinting at you.**

**“Just think how it’ll feel when I’m _actually_ poundin’ my rhythm inside o’ ya...!” **

**Those words alone push you over the edge. You’re thrown into overwhelming orgasm before you’re ready, letting out a shocked screech. Then, it’s gone, much too quickly for your liking.**

**“Ya did a good job, Remix.”  The DJ’s eyes are smiling, and seeing him happy makes your insides warm and fuzzy. Or maybe it’s just afterglow. You don’t know, and you don’t care.**

**The next time you meet with him, you decide, it won’t just be for a courtesy call.**


End file.
